


What Ails You

by dizzy



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Hospital, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Trish, because her gallbladder rioted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Ails You

The hospital is white and sterile, bustling with noise dulled through walls and doors and a few constant beeps inside the room.   
  
Chris is not supposed to be here.   
  
He wasn't supposed to get that call from Chord, a rushed message with a when and a where and a barebones explanation of what happened.   
  
He wasn't supposed to rush to his car, to break a dozen traffic violations to get to there as quickly as he could.

But he did get the call, and now he's here. Jeans and a t-shirt hastily thrown on, his phone at a third battery life because he hadn't charged it. Because he hadn't been supposed to leave the house that day. It was a writing day, a day of solitude and creativity, a day to spin worlds from his fingertips and now the reality he's in is having so much more grim of a scenario than what Alex and Connor are playing through.   
  
Darren's on the bed in front of him, pale and pained. He's trying to smile but he's sweating through it and Chris can tell it hurts him.   
  
"So," Chris says, leaning forward in his chair. He's trying not to tap his foot. He knows it's not a reassuring thing. The more nervous he is, the more nervous Darren will be. "Puked on set?"   
  
"Full Linda Blair," Darren says, chucking half-heartedly.   
  
Then his eyes drop shut and he breathes raggedly.   
  
It looks like it hurts.   
  
"Does it hurt?" Chris asks. "Or is that a dumb question?"   
  
"Dumb question," Darren confirms. "Hurts like fuck."   
  
Chris glances to the window. The blinds are pulled down to allow Darren some privacy from any overly-eager hospital workers with cell phones, but he can see slivers of what's outside. Michael is pacing back and forth, on the phone with someone.   
  
He doesn't know Chris is in here. No one does, except the security guard that recognized him and let him through.   
  
Michael doesn't like Chris very much. Chris could pretend to know why, but there wouldn't be much point.   
  
Darren's hand jerks a little and then it's pushing out, toward Chris. His palm is facing up and his fingers splay wide.   
  
Chris takes it. He lets Darren squeeze it. "How soon are they operating?"   
  
"Soon as they can. Need me back on my feet for dancing in a week or two," Darren says. "They're rewriting some stuff. But I already recorded my songs, so I don't know-"   
  
"Darren," Chris chastises. "Worry about that later. Or not at all. Let someone else handle it."   
  
Darren nods, and that he agrees so readily is truly a sign of how bad he feels.   
  
"And you should have told someone how bad you felt," Chris says.   
  
What he means is _you should have told me_ but he can't figure out how to say that.   
  
Maybe Darren gets it anyway, though, because his thumb strokes over the back of Chris's hand in apology. "I thought it was just acid reflux or something. Thought I could push through. Until I - you know - hurled all over the set. They brought me in, zapped me and scanned me or whatever, and - anyway. I'll be minus one gallbladder tomorrow. How much you think that would go for on eBay? Glee Star's Actual Organ, Used and Slightly Inflamed. Certificate of authenticity included."   
  
Chris appreciates the attempt but he doesn't fall for the bait.   
  
"Getting that call terrified me," Chris admits in a quiet voice. "Please don't - I just. I need you. I need you okay."   
  
Another squeeze. Reassuring, this time. "I'm okay, look. You know they're gonna get the best docs so they can have me up and running and shaking that money maker as soon as they can."   
  
Chris drops his head down, forehead against the mattress of Darren's hospital bed, lips on the back of Darren's hand.   
  
He doesn't know what else to say, so he doesn't say anything else.   
  
Michael comes in and looks at Chris, unpleasant surprise clouding his face.   
  
"I'm not going anywhere," Chris says.   
  
Darren is just grinning a little.   
  
Michael nods starkly and starts to talk to Darren, ignoring Chris completely. It's the closest thing to permission that they'll get and Chris will take it right now.   
  
*   
  
Chris stays until they take Darren away, then he goes home.   
  
He showers and feeds the cat.   
  
He packs a bag of mostly Darren's clothes, because he'll need something clean and not smelling of vomit to go home in.   
  
He meets Chord at a gas station to pick up Darren's messenger bag. He doesn't rifle through too closely, but just enough to see that everything Darren might need is in there. iPad, phone charger, a battered notebook, his ipod and at least three sets of headphones.   
  
Chris smiles at a familiar folded up sheet of paper. He doesn't need to unfold it and read it to see what it says. A note from an anonymous admirer (anonymous to anyone but the recipient) left taped to a trailer mirror over a year ago.   
  
He thanks Chord, not quite meeting his eye. This is the first time this has really been acknowledged between them, and no matter what Chord knows under the table or from being in Darren's confidence, it's still _weird_.   
  
*   
  
Darren's already out of surgery by the time Chris makes it back, but that's all right. He's so sensitive to anesthesia that he'll be out for a while.   
  
Chris makes himself comfortable in the chair by the bed and pulls out his laptop. It ends up being little more than pretense, because he can't make himself stop looking over to check on Darren every few minutes.   
  
*   
  
Eventually he glances up and Darren is looking back at him.   
  
He smiles, sleepy and a little bit confused. "Love you. Feed the cat?"   
  
"Love you, too." Chris smiles back. "Go back to sleep."   
  
*   
  
When he wakes again, he's a little more himself and a lot more aware of the pain he's in. "Think it'll leave a badass scar?" Darren asks, trying to peer down at the incision.   
  
"You think the big bads would really let anything mar your beautiful body?" Chris teases. He's sitting on the edge of the bed now, as close as he can be but not touching. His fingers rakes through Darren's hair.   
  
*   
  
Chris stays as long as he can, until he can't anymore because Michael says people from the studio are coming to see Darren.   
  
Chris can't be there for that.   
  
It's just a thing. For now, at least.   
  
"I'll go get the house ready for you," Chris says. He doesn't try for a kiss. Not with people around. That's not how they do it.   
  
"The house?" Darren questions him.   
  
"You'll need help," Chris says, leaving it at that. "Try not to run any marathons or break into Busby Berkley routines while I'm gone."   
  
"No promises," Darren says, and lets his hand go. "I'm feeling better already."


End file.
